Global Disclaimer: All BtVS characters belong to FOX and the marvelous Mr. Joss Whedon. This story is for entertainment purposes only. The author intends neither profit nor defamation herein. This is just for fun and frolic, folks.

Feedback: Yes, please. I live for reviews, sad but true. I know there must still be some Spike/Drusilla fans out there. Drop me a review. Show me the whole world hasn't joined the "Spuffy" club. If reviewing on the site is not your style, you can also drop me a line at my email center geekwitch@1witch.com. Anything letting me know other people are reading what I write is greatly appreciated.

A/N: This fiction was written for Misled Youth, who got the better of me in a game of wits. (Good on you.) Never let it be said I don't honor my word. You never said what kind of story other than the basics. So, you get Drama. I hope you like it. Also, I always figured Dru would have to know something was up.

Summary: Spike and Dru are still together and in love in the Wish-verse. (As they darn well should be, ME!) This is what the show left out. Might be a little AU.
 
 

Chapter 1 - I have a funny feeling about this...

The feeling came over her all of a sudden, almost the same as if she were having one of her visions, but a thousand times stronger, waking her from a dead sleep. She sat up with a shriek, shaking. The voices, normally no louder than a whisper, screamed through her head. She pawed at her ears to stop them. "Shhh. I don't want to hear any more. Please, leave me alone."

A hand softly caressed her lower back. She jumped at the sensation and turned to look at the man lying next to her in the bed, stilling his hand with a look of concern across his face. "Have a fright, ducks?"

Her Spike looked back at her. That wasn't right, was it? She cocked her head to one side and stared at him as if he would disappear before her eyes. He returned to rubbing her back slowly, calming her. His touch always helped calm her. "The world is not the world, Spike. It all went away in the blink of an eye." She looked around the room. Their bed was in the master suite at the mansion on the edge of Sunnydale. She knew the place but something didn't fit. "What are we doing here?"

"We live here. You know that." He pulled her down into his arms with very little resistance from her. She whimpered in confusion while he smoothed her hair down, attempting to sooth her nerves. "I wish I could help you. Seeing you like this..." He kissed her forehead chastely. "You need rest, baby."

Rest? She pulled on of her arms free and held it up in the air so she could see it. Her veins looked blue against the whiteness of her skin, forming a pattern akin to spider webs running the whole of the limb, a familiar sight. "But I was well, Spike. When I went to sleep, I was strong." She put her arm back down to lie across his chest. "Does this mean I'm not me?"

He sighed. "My poor Dru. The Hell mouth was supposed to revive you but you're not getting much better. It's been over a year. It's time we faced it's not working. Maybe we should track down the Slayer. What's it they say her name is? Muffin, or whatever. I'll get her for you. Slayer's blood might help."

She wrinkled her forehead, thinking of something she should know, an answer just beyond her grasp like a distant memory. A tiny voice whispered in her head. She knew. "I remember. She isn't the cure. The cure is flying on angels' wings."

He sat up on one elbow, watching her face. "What'd you see?"

She touched one jutting cheekbone with trembling fingers. "I can't see her. She's gone. The Slayer. She was laughing at me but now she's gone but she was never there. It's utter confusion. At least you're here, with me. All better now."

He kissed her nose and chuckled. "Where else would I be? Tell me what else you saw, kitten. Did you see a cure?" He sat back up again, still watching her.

She smiled at last. "I told you. It's flying on angels' wings, crosses of gold in their hands."

He frowned. "Angels? Crosses? That doesn't sound like a cure, more like a scourge." He studied her eyes. "Hey now, you don't mean Angelus?" She shut her eyes and nodded. "Bugger. Sorry, Dru, but Heinrich has him and that tosser won't allow us back in the fold, still mad about that bird in 1931." He sighed. "You're certain, aren't you? How do you suggest I go about getting him?"

She shook her head, trying to remember more. "We don't need him yet. First we must get a book." She opened her eyes. "You make everything right for me. You always do." She wrapped her long arms around his neck, gently pulling him down to her. "Love me?" She kissed him deeply.

"Always, pet." He muttered between kisses. "Always." She started running her tongue along his jaw. He pulled back, looking worried again. "We shouldn't. Really, it takes so much out of you."

Her arms moved from around his neck so her hands could travel down his bare back possessively. "Doesn't matter. The night and your blood can put it back in. The moon is humming a love song and I want to dance to it."
 
 

Chapter 2 - Hardly Just a School

Spike looked at the Sunnydale High School from the bushes outside. Of all the places the book could be, it would have to be at the unofficial white hat headquarters. Most vamps intelligently avoided it just as humans tended to avoid the warehouse district after dark or the Bronze at any time. Yet, here he was, crouched in the bushes, contemplating entering the lion's den itself. Perhaps her insanity was rubbing off on him after all these decades together.

He moved from the bushes toward the front doors of the school. He laughed a bit to himself upon seeing the sign. He didn't need an invitation really as it was a public building but it was ever so thoughtful of the school to provide him one anyway. He was definitely there seeking knowledge. A locked door posed very little problem for Spike. Through it in no time, he stalked down the hallway, headed for the library.

He stopped before reaching the library doors. Voices drifted from within, troops preparing for a confrontation from the sound of it.
 

Rupert Giles sighed internally while they gathered weapons. He took children into battle nightly, like a desperate crusade. The thing was, he knew he didn't have a choice. Neither did they. He watched the three students as they prepared. Before the Master rose, the three would probably not have even spoken with each other, all being from different social circles. Now, all three of them having survived vampire attacks, they had banded together like soldiers, taking care of each other. It made him both sad and proud.

The boys could handle themselves, of that he was sure. Lately, however, he worried about the girl. She was getting tired, not fighting as well as she used to fight. Well, she wouldn't listen to his requests for her to take a night off, would she? "Nancy, hand me that bag of extra stakes, would you?"
 

A dignified British tenor sounded the dismissal, presumably the librarian. "Off we go, then. Everyone, please remember to be careful." The gossip in vamp circles claimed the man worked for the Watcher's Council. Luckily for the vamps in Sunnydale, he had no Slayer.

Spike hid around the corner as they came tumbling through the doors. Four people, it looked like, three teenagers and one adult. What's that? One of the teenagers smelled non-human. Strange. The odd boy spoke, "I parked the van right out front."

Well, he could probably take them all easily but he knew this was far too important to risk failure. Minions normally did this sort of work for him but being in the same town with the Master of the Brotherhood of Aurelius had significantly reduced Spike's ability to keep help. Only Dalton remained loyal, although the bookworm could not be relied upon for anything like this 'break into the fortress' action.

Once the white hats vacated the premises, he entered the library. He went into the connected librarian's office wondering if she could be right. There it was, exactly where she said it would be. If he had not had over a century to grow accustomed to her uncanny visions, he would have been astounded. Instead, he snatched up the book with a laugh. "We'll see what old Dalton can make of this, then."

In the living room of the mansion, Dalton sat on an old sofa trying to read the text while Spike hovered over him, trying to hurry him along. Pacing behind the sofa, Spike had a difficult time keeping himself from ripping the book out of the other vampire's hands and attempting to translate it himself even though his Latin was almost a century without practice. "C'mon, mate. I know you read Latin. It can't be that hard."

Dalton fiddled with his glasses nervously. "But Master Spike, it looks like Latin but it isn't."

Drusilla, sitting on a cushion in front of the fire with her eyes closed, suddenly stood with a squeak. Spike went to her assistance. "What is it, princess?"

She moved her head like a charmed snake. "Whispers like memories. Wait, I'm missing the cards." She picked up her tarot cards from the mantle, rifling through them until she found the one she wanted, holding it out to him. "I've seen this all before, Spike."

He took the card from her. "Of course you have. You almost always see the important things. Now, what's with the card?" He looked at it, a painted image of a mausoleum.

She grabbed his hand, the one holding the card. "There should have been a table. I should have been reading a spread." She started to whine. "It's all happening wrong. This is not what Miss Edith told me."

He pulled her into his arms, noticing as he did that Dalton was trying his best to pretend he saw nothing happening, a good trait in a servant. "Relax." He cooed to her, nuzzling her hair. "There's my girl. Tell me what the card is for."

She pulled away so she could see him. "You need the key to the book. He'll never be able to read it otherwise." She tapped on the card.

Spike studied the card again. "This where we'll find it?" She smiled back at him. "Marvelous. Dalton can handle that, I think."
 
 

Chapter 3 - The Key

Dalton crept across the graveyard, jumping at every noise. Dread of seeing the band of white hats filled him; he never had much in the way of fighting skills. He really wished there were other minions to do this sort of thing. Master Spike normally only used him for intellectual pursuits but was clearly reluctant to leave Mistress Drusilla for a second time in one night. Strange pair, those two, but he had the time to get used to them. True, they treated him well enough for a servant. Or, to be more precise, they had been treating him well ever since Darla left in 1931. When she was still around, his life had not been as comfortable.

He should be happy. But still, he couldn't quite get over the feeling that something was walking over his grave. Something Mistress Drusilla said before he left disturbed him. She kept muttering how it was all wrong and that Dalton was not even supposed to be alive. When a girl who has visions says things like that about you, it tends to be a bit disconcerting. So, upon seeing the name on the mausoleum he wanted, du Lac, he couldn't help but hesitate to enter.

Steeling himself as much as a bookworm could against impending attack, Dalton slowly pushed open the door to the crypt. Utterly relieved when no attack came upon him, he ventured a small smile. He talked to himself  as a means of remaining calm. "Now, she said the key was in a small..." He cracked open the reliquary, unprepared for what he would find. He jumped back across the crypt. "Oh, holy hell."

He slowly walked back across the crypt, eyes growing accustomed to the sight of the prize he knew he must bring back to his Masters. It was the biggest cross he had ever seen that wasn't attached to a grave stone or a church, gold gilded from one end to the other. Well, all obvious problems aside, he simply had to take it for he knew the consequences of returning without it would be far worse than the cross itself could burn. He pulled a handkerchief out of his vest pocket; Spike had often laughed at him for still carrying one. In this case, it came in handy. Wrapping it around his hand, as if he were taking a pan out of an oven, he picked up the cross, smiling when it didn't burn.

Drusilla wanted to dance. Of course, she always wanted to dance. Her current condition did pose a few obstacles, though. After a few minutes of waltzing through the living room, she was too weak to even stand on her own feet. Knowing stopping would cause her distress, Spike merely picked her up, with his arms tightly around her waist, so that her feet barely missed the floor.

Dalton entered the room moments later to find them still dancing, the only music a faint tune Drusilla hummed. Normally, he wouldn't have dreamed of interrupting them. Things were not normal because he usually wouldn't have something they wanted. He cleared his throat to gently bring them out of their dance, although well aware they already knew he was present. "I found the item."

Drusilla stopped humming and turned a dreamy look to the cross Dalton held for them to see. He had placed it on one of the dark cushions from the back of the couch, offering a dramatic contrast to the glimmering gold. Drusilla tried to step toward it as Spike put her down but stumbled so that he had to catch her again. He helped her walk the few steps to Dalton.

Drusilla began to reach a hand toward the cross but Spike caught that as well. She pulled her hand free gently. "I'm not going to touch it, pet. I just want to feel." She held her hand over the cross. "Power, flowing off of it in waves." She looked back at Spike and smiled. "It has a hidden surprise."

Spike looked past her to Dalton, one eyebrow raised in request of an explanation. Dalton sputtered. "I found it quite by accident just after I picked the item up, Master Spike. You see, the bottom of the cross pulls away to reveal a blade, very sharp by the way, with inscriptions. I think those inscriptions must be the key to the book. With a little time, I'm sure I can..."

"Exactly the amount of time you have, Dalton, very little." Spike's face left little room for argument.

Dalton, however afraid, pressed on. "What I could make out of it without the key leads me to believe it is some ceremony Mistress Drusilla has me translating. Do you have any idea what it requires? One bit looked to mention Sire's blood. That would mean..."

Spike interrupted again, growing impatient. "I know what that would mean Dalton. Just get to work. We're going up to bed. I want the translation by next sunset."
 
 

Chapter 4 - Translations and True Love

Dalton stayed up all day working on the translation. The text, so close to Latin as to be confusing in its similarities, slowly revealed the necessary ceremony to restore Mistress Drusilla to full strength. The ingredients list for the spell was the worst part. Realizing finally it did indeed call for Sire's blood, a feeling a doom overtook him.

A trip to the Bronze could easily make what Mistress Drusilla had said to him become the truth. He saw no way to avoid the event. Seeing the translation, Master Spike would certainly insist they attempt to get Angelus from the Master's keeping. Dalton, had he still been in a position to pray, would have done so. For truly, their only other hope would be far more difficult to obtain.

Leaving Dru to finish dressing for the night, Spike went downstairs right at sunset determined to get the ceremony Dalton should have finished. His worry for Drusilla overwhelmed any other thoughts or feelings. She grew steadily weaker by the day, and only marginally better again at night. Something needed to be done, and soon.

Dalton looked up from the papers on the coffee table. Spike snatched the paper from the top of the pile. "You manage to make yourself useful enough to sort this thing out?"

Dalton tried to take the paper back but Spike moved away with it instead. "It isn't quite finished."

Spike read over the text, brow furrowing as his eyes scanned the page. "That's it, then. We go tonight."

Dalton stammered, "But, Master Spike, the factory is to open tonight."

Spike smiled tensely. "Exactly. We slip in when the crowd is large. That way, no one will notice our arrival before we slip back out, Angelus in tow."

Drusilla came down the stairs slowly, both men turning to watch her arrival. She stopped next to Spike, who put on arm loosely around her waist. "They said to hurry or I would miss the party. Are we going?"

He put a hand to her forehead, as if measuring a temperature that would never be any higher. "Are you feeling up to it? Maybe you should stay here."

She smiled, eyes closed. "I want to see the pretty red blood flowing like satin."

Battle raged in the factory. Called by the head of the white hats, the watcher known as Rupert Giles, the Vampire Slayer, Buffy, had finally arrived in Sunnydale to wage war against the Master. Her deflected arrow, aimed at the Master's dead heart but finding the shoulder of his childe Xander instead, started the skirmish.

Angel, formerly known as Angelus until gypsies gave him back his soul, broke out of his cage to rush to the Slayer's aide. He immediately began freeing the humans, who moments earlier had seemed destined to die at the hands of the Master using his new invention, the bloodletting machine.

Xander and the Master's other favorite, the red headed Willow, headed to engage the Slayer. She fights them both off without managing to kill them, leaving Xander free to find a weak spot when he recovered. The vampire went after the Slayer again.

Angel ran past her to punch Xander in the face. Xander in turn lunged at Angel with the crossbow bolt that he pulled from his shoulder, and impaled Angel. Angel, the vampire with a soul, crumbled to dust muttering, "Buffy."

Two blocks from the factory, Drusilla fell to her knees, wailing as loudly as she could. Spike went to his knees at her side, removing his coat and wrapping it around her shoulders to lessen her shivering. She grasped at the lapels of the leather as they rested against her. "We are too late. The angel has flown away."

Spike didn't quite understand. Maybe he simply hoped he misunderstood. He ventured the more positive guess. "He's escaped? That's not a problem, poodle. We'll track him down. It'll just take a little time."

She shook her head sadly. "No time. Chronos has abandoned us in our quest. Time has flown like never before. Just as my angel has flown, becoming dust on the wind." She put a hand up to cup Spike's cheek. "The bravest knight in all the land cannot same me this time."

Spike's eyes filled with tears he tried not to let spill, a thing rarely seen in the vampire world. "Dust?" He pulled her into his arms, losing the fight to hold back the tears. "That can't be. You need him."

She wiped away his tears. "Shhh. It's alright, Spike. I would rather be weak and with you in this world than strong and alone in the other."

He said, "I just wish..."

She placed her fingers across his lips. "Wishes are not horses."

Dalton stepped toward them. "What of the Master?"

Spike couldn't even find strength to show the anger he felt at the intrusion in his voice when he asked, "Heinrich? What does he matter now? We've failed!"

Dalton held up the translated page. "It's about the translation, Master Spike. Sire's blood could be taken another way."
 

THE END